


Survival Instinct

by ScientificCorgi



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Blood, Death, Dog death I'm very sorry not much I promise, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smornby, F/M, Hat Films, Horror????, Idk what to tag this as really, Implied Cannibalism, Injury, M/M, Men Crying, Pain, Reunions, Swearing, Violence, adorable omg, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScientificCorgi/pseuds/ScientificCorgi
Summary: They knew the zombie apocalypse would come some day, but they weren't expecting it to be so soon.Basically just a Hat Films zombie apocalypse AU with a side of eventual Smornby.Tags will be updated as we go along.---Currently on hold due to personal reasons, I promise to continue this at a later date (probably this year)---





	1. (Chapter 1) Meet Ross Hornby

**Author's Note:**

> I recently got really into three gigantic idiots on Youtube. I was a fan of the Yogscast about two years ago but I never really watched Hat Films. And now I'm so addicted to them, I'm writing a fanfiction about them and one of my OTPs, Smornby. The first three chapters will be basically introducing you to the Hat Films guys one by one and how they reacted to the apocalypse. Chapter 4 on (hopefully) will be them finding each other and stuff will happen, I promise. :)

Ross Hornby had lived a fairly average life: He worked hard in school, had great friends, and even a girlfriend for six months. However, after that relationship ended quite badly for Ross, he instinctively decided that dating people wasn’t really his thing. His family were supportive and encouraging about his life and ambitions, his grandparents were the sweetest people he had the fortune of knowing (even if his grandma was a bit embarrassing), and that was life for Ross.

That was until Friday 8th of July 2011.

Ross was 23 years old and in his final year of university. He had missed the past few classes due to illness (the flu to be precise) and needed to catch up on his media course. His roommate, Jonathan – or Jon for short – had decided to take an early night and this was a perfect moment for Ross to begin catching up. The TV was playing in the background, the volume low to allow Jon to sleep peacefully. It was on the news channel only because Ross preferred to know what was going on in the world.

He and Jon weren’t the closest of friends. They were more acquaintances or study buddies more than anything.

An hour later, at 11:20pm, Ross’ attention turned to the current news broadcast displayed on the TV. The screen was brightly illuminated in warm colours which drowned the room in reds, yellows and oranges. Ross stared intensely, eyes open in horror, as the video showed buildings on fire, people submerged in the flames and some people who really didn’t look like people. Ross noted how they staggered towards a collection of terrified adults and children, and he noted how they reached out to snatch anything that moved, and he noted how violently they tore apart once healthy bodies.

For a couple of seconds, Ross had to pinch himself; he was in a dream, it was only a dream that would pass eventually like all the other ones did, right?

Ross’ heart beat faster until he could physically feel his whole being throb with fear.

“Jonathan?” He whispered, pushing his numb form from the chair. He strode closer to the still body, shaking the man’s visible shoulder. “Jonathan!” Ross shouted this time, and in response Jon suddenly opened his eyes.

“Ross, mate, keep your voice down. What is it?” His mild-mannered roommate locked eyes with Ross’ nervous blue ones which appeared to be slightly shaking in the dim light.  
Ross glanced over at the TV which was now playing footage of a zombie-esque figure with wide pupil-less eyes chasing a young woman grasping a crying child’s hand.

“Oh my, Ross, what- I mean-“ Words struggled to form in Jonathan’s now dry throat. “What’s going on?”

“It’s footage of zombies, Jon, **zombies** , real zombies tearing real people apart-“

“Okay, calm down, mate. It’s probably April 1st-“ 

“Jon, it’s July!” 

“Then it’s probably a prank or- or a convention. Yeah, a gaming convention.” 

“Come on, Jon, conventions are not that chaotic. We need to go home to our families and defend ourselves." 

“You play two much CoD, mate.” 

“Jonathan, you don’t understand. How are you not panicking or reacting?” By now, Ross was getting increasingly frustrated at his friend’s denial. His voice travelled down the corridors which resulted in the neighbours banging on the wall. 

“Shut the fuck up in there. I’m tired.”

“Sorry.” Ross shouted back, realising how loud he was being. 

“So, you think this is real, then?” 

The brunet raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Yes. There’s a fucking apocalypse happening.” 

“Calm down and turn the Goddamn television off. You can catch up with your coursework tomorrow, it’s Saturday and you don’t have any classes.” 

“What if my parents are being eaten right now? What if my dogs-“ 

“Ross.” 

“-Are now zombie dogs-“

“Ross, for fuck’s sake, go to bed.” 

Ross stood by Jonathan’s bedside, chest heaving and a hand over his face. After a few minutes of silence, Ross agreed and went to bed. 

\- 

The morning light shone through the gap in the curtains, lighting up a yellow-white trail from the far wall to the window. Ross and Jonathan awoke at 8am to get breakfast at the on campus canteen. As they walked out of the dorms, Jonathan noticed how shaken up Ross looked with bags under his red eyes and his hair looking like he hadn’t brushed it in years. 

“Are you okay? You look like shit, mate.” 

“That’s nice of you.” Ross spat back, bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes. “I’m fine. I was probably just tired last night.” 

“It’s okay, it happens.” 

The rest of the walk continued in silence until they pushed open the double doors to the canteen. Nervous chat spread throughout the room as the students talked about the news of last night’s drama. 

And then the chancellor walked through the doors. 

“Okay, listen up everyone. I’m sure you’ve heard of the news. We urge you all, who have transport available to them and families, to go back to loved ones. If you do not have anyone to go home to or have no available route of getting home safely, please stay here. Classes will be cancelled until further notice and we will keep in contact of all of those who are going home.” 

The atmosphere in the canteen became uneasy, and a hundred or so students flooded out of the building. Ross and Jon looked at each other, unsure as to whether to stay or go.  
“I’m going. My girlfriend’s going to be worried.” Jonathan stated. 

Ross thought for a while, his hand running through his hair. “Yeah. I need to see if my parents and dogs are okay.” 

\- 

Saying goodbye to his future and his friends hurt Ross badly. Staring out of the windscreen of his car, Ross let a single tear slide down his cheek as he thought about the many scenarios this event could go: humanity could get wiped out, a small population of people could survive until the zombies inevitably die out, or this could be just a small thing that is not all that dangerous. 

His house eventually came into view. If this wasn’t the beginning of an apocalypse, the scene would be quite beautiful. Ross locked his car and unlocked his front door being met by one of his dogs, and his favourite, Max. Max’s tail happily wagged side-to-side, his tongue drooping out of the side of his mouth. A smile sneaked onto Ross’ face as he bent down to squat next to him. He playfully stroked Max all over, fingers registering every hair on the canine’s body. 

“Hey, boy.” The brunet sniffed and looked into the dog’s brown eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

Max barked and led down by Ross’ scrunched up legs, nose nudging his shins. Ross giggled breathlessly. 

“Mum? Dad?” Ross shouted, hoping to hear the voices of his parents. 

Silence. 

“Mum?” He stood up from the floor and opened the living room door, peaking around the corner. “Dad? Hello, anyone?” 

No voices answered and Ross audibly gulped, fumbling around in his jacket pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and rung his mother first. Remembering that he didn’t shut the door, Ross jogged back to the front door and caught a glimpse of a woman wobbling about on her feet outside on the road. After narrowing his eyes, Ross came to the conclusion that she was undead. Ross hurriedly shut the door as quietly as he could. 

Thirty minutes passed and not one of his relatives answered their phones. At this point, Ross was close to breaking down. One of his biggest fears was to lose contact with people he loved, specifically his family, and now that this was a possible reality, Ross wanted to cry. Or die, he didn’t mind which one at this point.

Max walked sadly into the living room and nuzzled his nose in between Ross’ legs. His eyes looked sadder than in the morning, and this was enough of a signal to make Ross even more anxious. 

“Where’s Millie?” 

Max raised his head and walked to the living room door, waiting patiently and looking back at Ross. The man stood up and mentally braced himself, ambling towards his dog. Max walked out of the room and to the closed double glass door, nose skimming across the surface of it and leaving damp nose prints. Ross looked outside into the small back garden and saw a dog that looked a lot like Millie led down at the edge. Ross closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose when it clocked that Millie had been eaten by one of the infected. 

\- 

After Ross had recovered slightly after the initial shock of one of his dogs dying and possibly his entire family as well, his survival instincts kicked in and he packed a bag with some cans of food, a tin opener, a few bottles of water and a blanket. Ross placed all of these as neatly as possible into his large rucksack. He was about to leave the kitchen when Max walked in, tail wagging side to side as he walked. He looked up at the tall man and Ross packed a couple of cans of dog food as well. 

“Well then, boy. Looks like you’re coming with me." 

Max barked softly and skipped to the door. Ross sighed and pulled his heavy rucksack on his back then walked to the door. Upon opening the door, he noticed that the infected woman from a few hours ago was nowhere in sight, so he cautiously made his way out into the late afternoon sunlight. He didn’t spot anything on the streets, the countryside looked deserted, so he and Max wandered the streets together, in hope of finding an uninfected person soon. 


	2. (Chapter 2) Meet Alex Smith

Alex Smith was a young, talented musician who played in a band. The band was not quite famous, but he did get recognised every so often if he stepped outside or went shopping. Saturday night was supposed to be one of the most terrifying yet exciting times of his and the band’s life; their first live gig. Smith was ecstatic when he saw that the medium-sized venue was sold out and even though this added pressure onto getting every note perfect, Smith was looking forward to meeting some fans and playing live.

One day when he cycled through the nearby hills not twenty minutes from his house, he came across a circular metal door in the side of the hill. Confused, Smith dismounted and placed his bike on its stand then knocked on the surface. He noticed that the door was slightly ajar, so he peered around the edge being wary of what might be inside.

“Hello?” Smith spoke into the dark space, knocking on the door once more. He glanced behind him and to the side, then he opened the door so he could just slip his body into the gap. “Anyone here?”

Silence greeted him once more and Smith didn’t know what emotion to feel. He loved a bit of adventure, but he was also nervous as to whether he walked into his own death. He flicked the light switch by the door and the lights slowly flickered on, a quiet hum filling the room.

He was standing on a raised balcony which overlooked what appeared to be a living room. There were racks upon racks filled with cardboard boxes against the far metallic wall below him, with a few sofas lined up against the left wall. The centre of the room was covered by a dull red rug with tassels along the two shorter sides. A classic analogue clock was hung on the wall above a large wooden table with some paper scattered along it.

Smith walked down the stairs, the metal beneath him clunking with every step he made. He reached the floor and a sense of excitement washed over him as he scoured around the room. A smile snuck onto his face as he traced his hand over the dusty table, dust particles flying in front of him and eventually disappearing.

Smith looked over the papers on the table; every piece of paper was blank bar the faint horizontal lines spaced evenly out on the pages.

He looked up at the two doors at opposite ends of the room. They were similar to the entrance door but slightly smaller. He walked over to the nearest door, the left one, and opened it slowly.

This room was a bit warmer than the previous one, and larger too. Plain white beds lined the right wall facing the beds on the opposite side. Small bedside tables stood beside each bed and an equal amount of chest drawers in front of the overhanging sheets.

Those beds looked comfortable enough, but they weren’t like the bed Smith had at home. The chest drawers Smith guessed to house clothes or small appliances for each person. Upon counting up the beds, he came to the conclusion that the ‘bunker’ was suitable for up to 16 people.

After leaving the bedroom, and two bathrooms as he found out, Smith entered the smaller lounge and made his way to the other metal door. He gripped the handle and pushed the door open, his eyes immediately lying on the bookshelf in front of him. Hundreds of books, including some music books to Smith’s amusement, were stacked neatly in the shelves. A couple of dining tables accompanied the right-hand side, and several large generators lined against the other wall. Wires and cables of all colours and sizes led from each generator to through the roof of the bunker via some small holes. Smith remembered spotting at least five solar panels on the hillside, and he made the connection between the panels and generators.

Smith could get used to this, if he needed to. He could bring a couple of friends, his band members and some family in here just in case a meteor was to hit the Earth.

Little did he know that this bunker might come be useful to him the day before the gig was to begin.

Smith sat in his room on Friday night going over the songs he would be performing the next day. Midway through the second song, his phone rung suddenly. The caller ID appeared, ‘Benny Brown’, and Smith recognised that it was his best friend.

“What’s up, Ben?”

“Alex, there are things eating people.” Benny’s voice shook heavily as he spoke, Smith barely understanding the words.

“Eating people? What do you mean?”

“It’s like a horror movie or something- I think it’s zombies, Alex.”

“Ben, are you drunk-“

“No- no, Alex, there are zombies here.”

Smith frowned, not knowing whether this was another one of Ben’s pranks.

“Is this a prank?”

“Alex, for fuck’s sake, there are z-“ Screams in the background drowned out Benny’s voice, and a noticeable grumble came from the speakers.

“What was that, mate?”

“There are zombies, actual real life zombies!”

Smith suddenly clocked that this was not one of Ben’s stupid little pranks he would pull every so often. They were convincing, but not like this. Smith’s guitar was shoved onto the bed as he got up and glared out of his window, checking that there were no signs of abnormality on the streets.

One person, a woman, was ambling slowly down the road.

Smith gasped and blinked twice, any moisture in his throat or mouth evaporating.

“There’s one here too.”

“Oh my fucking God, they’ve spread, right Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to pack food and shit and whatever you can find, and you need to barricade yourself somewhere safe.”

“Are you serious?”

“Alex, does it sound like I’m fucking joking?” Ben sounded like he was running now, his footsteps audible to Smith. 

“Benny, what about you? You’re in Germany alone. I’ll come over and help you-“

“Alex, don’t. I’ll be fine, I’ll find you when this all blows over in a month or so, I promise-“

A long beep signified that the phone line had died. Smith stood, eyes open for once, staring out in the street and observing the thing that staggered down the street. It had moved a few metres since Smith last checked.

“… Benny?” He spoke, hopeful that Benny would speak back. “Oh fucking hell.”

Hurriedly, Smith found his mother’s contact and phoned her, hoping she or someone would pick up.

When that didn’t work, he phoned his father.

And when that didn’t work, he didn’t know what to do.

He went to bed, head aching, after triple checking that every door was locked. As he was just about to shut his eyes, his mind ticked back to the time he found the bunker.

An idea sprung to his stressed mind to recruit people into coming with him to a bunker they might not know exists.

The morning eventually came around and Smith immediately set to work on his plan. First, he packed a couple of tinned beans, a couple of water bottles and a pen knife that was always kept on his bedside table, a gift from his late brother. He stuffed all of the items into the dark green rucksack by the door, zipping it up securely.

His guitar seemed to stare at him through its rough black casing, and Smith stared back pondering whether to take it or not.

He could carry the guitar on his back and put his rucksack in the front basket of his bike. That was what he decided on in the end, so after loading himself with his rucksack, guitar and baseball bat, he strode outside confidently, mounting his bike and peddling as fast as he could in the direction of the bunker.


	3. (Chapter 3) Meet Chris Trott

Chris Trott: a seemingly ordinary 23 year old who was often considered the laughing stock in his school. He was a smart gentleman with a particular soft spot for his family and friends, his intelligence known to all of them.

Trott’s average day consisted in college consisted of waking up, studying, eating then sleeping. He hung around with his friends when he wasn’t doing any of the above, but that became less and less frequent as the end of his college life began. He was dedicated to getting a well-earned degree, and to ensure this he had to spend a few extra hours studying and revising alone.

He managed to graduate easily, and with a degree in his back pocket, getting a well-paid job that he enjoyed seemed simple.

This was the case; he was employed quickly which obviously made him elated. When his family found out, they were over the moon and they organised a congratulatory party for the man.

Friday night came along quicker than he expected and Trott was getting the final preparations done for the party the next day. His mother and father were in the front garden observing the stars and constellations that formed in the navy blue sky, occasionally pointing to particularly bright stars that twinkled high above them.

The first scream startled Trott, and in response his head whipped back to look through the open front door from the kitchen. He placed down his knife and took a step closer, leaning slightly on the kitchen doorway.

“Mum? You all right?” Trott’s concern grew as he heard a deeper scream outside. Eyes wide, he sprinted past the floral sofa and out the front door, stopping in his tracks when he spotted two people biting down on his mother’s arms and legs. His father was trying to beat them off with one of the cricket bats left by the side of the house, but to no avail as Trott watched another emerge and push his father over onto the grass.

“Get off me!” His father screamed, blood-covered hand reaching for the cricket bat. The creature bit down on his other arm, the crimson liquid staining itself on his clothes and the thing’s rotten teeth.

Trott glanced over at his mother who had ceased screaming by now and appeared to be lying still, her body becoming a banquet for the two creatures gnawing on her relentlessly. He ran over to the remaining cricket bat and gripped it tightly, fingers flexing around the softened handle, then whacked the thing eating his father over his head. Luckily, it fell to the floor beside his father’s body, head dented from the force of the hit.

Running over to the things, Trott now came to the conclusion that they were zombies, which were feasting on his beloved mother, and brought the cricket bat down on its head with full force. It fell on top of his mother, alerting the final zombie of Trott’s presence. It turned its mangled head towards the frightened man and leapt for him, fingers attempting to scratch his exposed skin. With all the strength he had left, Trott hit the zombie once, twice, three times before it finally gave up and fell to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he looked down at himself. Blood soaked his clothes, whose blood it was he had no idea, and his skin sported a bruise or two and a few small cuts littered his arms.

Regaining his breath slowly, Trott let himself cry. The constant flow of tears staining his flushed cheeks, merging with the blood on his face. He dropped the broken cricket bat and brought his hand up to his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes as he dropped to his knees.

His shoulders shuddered with the force of him sobbing into his hands.

‘This was supposed to be a happy occasion.’ He thought to himself, on the verge of calming down slightly. He exhaled and eventually managed to regain his senses.

He didn’t sleep well that night. He was in a state of constant fear that he would end up like his parents. He lay wide awake in his bed, tossing and turning and trying to find a comfortable enough position to sleep in. His mind whirred and he thought of his girlfriend, Katie. Was she safe where she was? She was supposed to come down to his party tomorrow, but he doubted that she would come after the events that happened that night.

He needed to contact her.

Trott shot out of bed and grasped his mobile, scrolling through the contacts until he found Katie.

It rang a few times, and just as Trott was about to give up, Katie’s voice came through the speakers.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay, Katie?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why? Has something happened- are you okay?”

“I’m not doing too good, if I’m honest.” Trott pinched his nose, ready for the oncoming question of ‘what happened?’.

“Why not, what happened?”

“… it’s a long story-“

“I’m here for you, Trotty. I can stay awake as long as you need me.”

Trott thought about how he could discuss the topic without him breaking down in tears again. “Um- well, something happened… and I- it’s- ah, I don’t know, Katie.”

“I’ll be there in the morning, would you prefer to talk about this in-“

“It’s not safe for you to come here.”

Katie was silenced. “Why?”

“There’s zombies everywhere- I saw three an hour ago, that’s why I’m not okay.”

“Are your parents okay?”

A few tears escaped Trott’s eyes and he sniffed audibly.

“Oh my God, I’m so so sorry-“

“It’s not your fault, I should’ve done something earlier. I just stood there and stared, I should’ve killed them before they-“

“No. Chris, stop. Do not blame yourself, the minute you start blaming yourself for things you didn’t do is the minute you will start to believe that. And there’s no going back from there. Please, stay safe, I’ll be there soon. Lock your doors, windows, everything.”

He sniffed again, liquid from his nose threatening to drop. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. Get some sleep, you twat.”

“I’ll try.” Trott hung up, thanking everything that Katie was still alive and safe.

Talking to Katie calmed his nerves and he suddenly felt exhausted enough to fall asleep.

-

He awoke in the morning to the sunlight poking through his curtains, spilling light onto the bedroom floor. His eyes peeled open, and he found that he was on his back looking up at the ceiling. Trott reached for his phone on the bedside table and checked the time, 9:23am. Katie would be here in half an hour. He only had to wait half an hour to see his beautiful girlfriend who he could hug and everything would be all right.

He waited for the front door to open, sat on the sofa, eyes attached to the analogue clock on the wall.

10am came round and nothing from Katie.

At 10:15am, Trott began to feel anxious.

At 10:30am, Trott was crying again.

And at 11am, Trott had finished waiting.

He walked numbly to the medium-sized black rucksack in the space under the stairs, his father’s for when he went climbing in his younger days. He roamed around the kitchen, stuffing in any tinned food and chocolate he could find and a few bottles of water. Zipping up the rucksack, he trod into the living room, when something caught his eye.

The family photograph.

His parents stood in the background smiling while his mother held a tiny baby wrapped in a white towel. The baby had just started sprouting brown hair. An eight year old girl stood in front of his father, her chestnut hair pulled up in a ponytail. Trott recognised the girl to be his sister, Kat. Who knows where she was now, Trott wasn’t too close to her anyway.

He picked up the photo and placed it carefully as to not break the glass on top of the things in his rucksack. He wandered outside blindly, shutting the door quietly as he began his life on the streets.


	4. Chapter 4

Trott had walked about a mile from his home. His legs were beginning to ache slightly and the midday summer sun was not making things any easier. Only twenty minutes had passed, but those twenty minutes were the most laborious and stressful minutes of Trott’s life so far.

He was out on the street in the midst of what could be a zombie apocalypse by himself in the middle of summer at midday. Sweat rained from his skin, the water evident on his shirt and trousers.

By noon, Trott’s stomach began to rumble loudly, indicating that he needed to eat as soon as he could. Shaking his head, he found a secluded shaded spot between two houses and peeled his rucksack off of him. He sat down with a grunt, opening the scorching rucksack and retrieving a tin of baby carrots.

But then it clicked; in the middle of his frantic packing session earlier that day, he hadn’t thought to get a tin opener.

He cursed himself, resting his head against the brick wall. How could he have forgotten a tin opener, _a tin opener_ of all things. How could he have been so stupid?

Trott found himself growing tired as his eyes slowly closed over his eyes. He was dragged peacefully into unconsciousness.

A groaning sound awoke Trott from his half hour power nap. His eyes snapped open as he searched for the source of the sound: his right.

The man pushed himself up off the ground and crept closer to the road, back sticking against the rough surface. He peeked around the corner to spot two figures, a man and a woman, ambling down the road towards Trott. He gasped, speed-walking back to his rucksack and hurriedly scooping it onto his back. He jogged to the road, looking to his left and seeing that the zombies were now only ten metres away.

After weighing out his options (either to wait silently and hope they don’t see him, or to leg it to the right) he decided that he would try to run and hopefully lose them in the midst of sprinting down some alleyways. He just had to have faith in the fact that he would encounter no more of the undead for quite a while.

Trott inhaled deeply then galloped down the oncoming street, checking behind him every few seconds to see how close they were gaining, if they were chasing after him. One of them had spotted him and was now running – as fast as a limping undead person could – towards Trott, not closing the gap between them but trying to keep up to him.

A pothole in the road caught Trott out, seemingly clamping his leg and pulling him down. He fell to the asphalt painfully, landing awkwardly on the ankle that fell down the hole. _‘Sprained it, fuck,’_ Trott thought, pushing himself off the surface and continuing to limp-sprint down the road, wiping his hands down his shirt to get rid of the remaining grains of road.

For a good five minutes he ran, at least that’s what Trott thought, before he even considered taking a rest as an option. Luckily, the zombie chasing him was nowhere in sight. The brunet doubled over, aching hands on his probably bruised knees, taking constant deep breaths in order to calm him down.

When his breathing returned to normal, Trott winced as the pain on his knees, ankle and hands came into play.

Spotting a park nearby, Trott saw a few benches facing the children’s play equipment. He ambled carefully over to the wooden bench and seated himself on it after checking for any undead nearby.

He raised his right ankle onto his knee and removed his shoe, placing the item on the bench next to him. His sock peeled off slowly due to the sweat holding it in place.

Trott winced at the sight of his ankle; not the worst thing he’d seen, or had, but looking at it was quite unnerving. He had never hurt his ankles before so this was a shock to him, and he didn’t really know what to do.

There was swelling and bruising around his ankle, albeit not too much, but still enough to make it painful to stand on. Biting his lip, he felt gingerly around the area, grunting in pain as he touched a specific area. He hadn’t thought of packing any medical supplies apart from a few plasters that fell into the bag unintentionally with the food.

He needed a support or a splint of some kind, and something cold to help the swelling. Trott only saw some sticks around the park floor underneath the nearby oak trees that could possibly be used for a splint, but he had no way of wrapping up his ankle.

He could deal with this later, for now he could limp until he found help.

-

The glaring sun simmered down, decreasing the temperature a few degrees. It was still warm, a good 21 degrees centigrade, but it was more tolerable than earlier.

Trott had spent the last hour or so looking at the plants and eyeing the beautiful flowers that lined the park. Daisies, foxgloves and some pretty purple flowers scattered around the edges of the field.

“Yeah, so- wait, is that another one?”

A voice. Trott scoured around the field for the source of the voice, it couldn’t be far judging how close that seemed.

“No, no, I think that’s an actual person.”

“Hey, you!”

Trott turned around, still seated on the bench, and his eyes locked onto two people; a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties and another man who looked a bit older.

“You’re not infected, are you?”

Trott blinked. “No, no, I just fell over and sprained my ankle.”

The strangers scowled. “That’s nasty, man. How’d it happen?”

“A zombie was chasing me and I fell down a pothole.”

The older man laughed. “The government never did anything about those fucking potholes.”

Trott nervously laughed along with them, looking down and scratching behind his neck.

“You need help? We have medical supplies. We can easily get some more, the apocalypse is only in the early stages.” The younger man held out his hand which Trott gratefully took. He pulled him up and Trott balanced on his uninjured leg. “Better get along- can you walk?”

The youngest placed his foot on the ground, testing first with his toes before he uncomfortably placed his foot on the grass. “Yeah, it’s a bit painful though.”

“You don’t need carrying then?”

“No.”

“My name’s Christopher. This is my mate, Darren.” The older man, Darren, smiled and held out his hand for Trott to shake.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Chris. You can call me Trott though so you don’t get mixed up.” Trott added, trying to inject some humour into the sentence.

“All right Trott, this way. Our base isn’t far from here.”

The trio began walking away from the park and over to the opposite side of the park.

“So, Trott, what’s your story?” Asked Chris, glancing over at the younger man.

“Um, well, it’s kind of a long story. Is there many undead walking around?”

Chris scoffed. “Plenty, mate. Only a week or so in and there’s fucking hundreds of them. Saw a group of five earlier eating a corpse or two.” He scratched his stubble.

“A week? I only knew about this a couple of days ago.”

“Wow, where were you living?”

“I came to visit my parents, my actual home is a few hours from here.”

“You’re not from the Bristol area, then?”

“Yeah, but I moved away lately and I recently got a job. My parents wanted to throw me a party but that’s off now.”

The other two looked at each other, sympathetic of Trott. He’d had it much worse than either of the elder ones.

The rest of the trip carried on in silence. The only sound was the occasional grunting from Trott as he walked uncomfortably on his injured leg. He didn’t know why, but something seemed a bit off with these guys. They seemed far too casual and eager to meet Trott, and peak in on his personal life. He couldn’t help but think that they were either stalkers or perverts who would use him somehow.

Walking into the base, which was actually just a barricaded house, a putrid smell his Trott’s nose with the intensity of a mallet. His nose scrunched up and he coughed, then a hand pushed him against the wall.

“Listen, mate, I know you’re thinking of us in a bad light. We’re not, honest. I can see your mind whirring-“

“Darren, what would you like to eat for dinner?”

“I think I want a bit of Trott tonight, Chris.”

Trott’s brown eyes widened in horror; they were cannibals. Cannibals interested in eating him.

“You’re sick.” Trott kicked one of the man’s shins hard with his good leg, and he remembered some of the Bushido martial arts moves he’d learnt as a young boy, and he put his strained body to work, easily overpowering them both with his martial arts moves.

“You’re dead, Trott.” Grunted the one still breathing, Chris? Was that his name?

“That’s what you get for trying to eat a Bushido black belt.”

Feeling proud of himself, Trott rushed out of the house hurriedly, backpack jiggling from side to side as he ran. His ankle was on fire, and Trott knew that he desperately needed to rest.

That’s when he heard a voice.

“You there!” A set of footsteps pounded towards the startled man, freezing him in place. A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “You all right, mate?”

Trott turned to look at the other man; piercing blue eyes were the first thing he noticed, along with dark brown hair which spiked upwards in most directions.

“Name’s Ross. Ross Hornby.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ross looked at the other man with genuine concern; he had seen him sprinting from one of the houses in front of him and Ross knew something was wrong.

“I’m Chris. Everyone calls me Trott though.”

Ross smiled, taking his hand off of the shorter man’s shoulder and shook his hand. “Hello Trott.”

Max trotted up beside Ross and made himself known to Trott whose face instantly lit up.

“Oh my God- you have a dog?”

Grinning, Ross replied. “Yes. His name’s Max, he’s very friendly.”

Trott bent down onto one knee and stroked the Labrador with real happiness plastered on his face. “He’s adorable, oh my God! Is he yours?”

“Yeah, yeah, he was one of mine.”

“One of yours?”

Ross rubbed the nape of his neck, flashing images of his late dog Millie appearing in his head. “My other dog is, um, dead.”

Trott’s head looked up at Ross’ sad eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry-“

“No, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault.” The tall man coughed. “Are you okay? You kind of ran from that house blindly onto the street. You were run-hobbling.”

Trott put his hands on his knee and pushed himself up, wincing at the sudden pain shooting through his leg. “I fell down a pothole and my ankle’s kinda fucked. I’m okay though, I can walk.”

“Why did you run from that house? Zombies?”

“No, some cannibals tried to eat me.”

Ross’ dark eyebrows raised in surprise and his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. “Oh- Christ- are you okay?”

“I’m fine, you don’t need to keep asking. Thanks for your concern though.”

“Do you want to wander around for a bit? I could use a bit of company and it looks like you do too.”

Scanning Ross’ features, Trott was about to reply when he cut him off.

“I understand if you have trust issues after that, because fucking hell, if I was about to be eaten I would have major trust issues.”

Both men laughed breathlessly then Trott accepted the man’s offer. He seemed nice enough, and plus he had a dog. The duo walked in the direction Trott was first headed and they walked along in a peaceful silence.

That was until an undead came crawling around the corner.

Both of them stopped in their tracks and Max walked forward until he spotted it too.

“If we’re quiet, it won’t see us and we can walk around it. Unless you have a weapon.” Ross murmured, eyes locked onto the zombie.

“No weapon, sorry.”

“Right, let’s go. Quietly.”

Max followed the nervous pair, eyeing the moving sack of rotten meat with beady eyes. Luckily, the zombie hadn’t appeared to be interested in them so they managed to get passed it unscathed.

Ross let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and they continued walking down the baron road.

-

After about half an hour of non-stop walking, Ross, Trott and Max came to a halt in front of a park that was slightly smaller than the one Trott was at before.

Ross looked towards the sky; the night was closing in fast and they needed a place to refuge in for at least the night.

“I’m not going into any houses.” Trott stated randomly.

“Why?”

“What if there are zombies in the house? What if it’s like a horror movie and we find more cannibals or murderers or some shit?”

“If you don’t want to go in any houses, I have a blanket, we could sleep on the bench or make a tent-like-thing from trees.”

“I’d much prefer that.”

“Building a camp?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. There’s a hedgerow along the far length, see that?”

Trott squinted and looked towards where Ross was pointing. “Yeah.”

“There’s some trees that look like they can shelter us there.”

Nodding, Trott made his way over to the hedgerow, Ross and Max following behind.

When they got to the thick hedge, both men searched for a comfortable place to stay.

“There’s some dog shit there, mate.” Trott pointed at the noticeable dog faeces on the floor and Ross came over to have a look.

“Dare you to eat it.”

“What?”

“Eat the shit.”

“No- are you insane, Ross?”

“Eat the fucking shit.”

Trott laughed and glanced at his new friend. He thought he was hilarious and Trott felt like he would be comfortable around this man, despite the fact they didn’t even know each other existed an hour ago.

“Go fuck yourself, Hornby.”

“Oh, you’re nice, aren’t you?”

The shorter man giggled again. “You’re a twat.”

“You’re a twat!”

Both of them joked around each other for a few more minutes then gave each other enough time to calm down before beginning to pile some leaves up from the floor. There wasn’t much; only a small pile lay in an uneven rectangle before them, but at least it was better than nothing.

The rucksacks were placed close by, the bags just about comfortable enough to be used as pillows. Ross dug into his rucksack, retrieving some canned food, a bottle of water and the blanket from its confines. He gave some food and the bottle to Trott.

“I don’t have a tin opener.”

“Use a rock, I’m sure there’s some scattered around.”

“Won’t it be dangerous to eat out of a can?”

“Use your hands.”

“It’s soup, Ross.”

“Then pour it into your mouth.”

Trott sighed then scoured the floor for a vaguely sharp stone. He found one almost instantly and began scratching the top of the can with the object.

Ross sat, back against his rucksack, watching the small man with amusement in his eyes. Trott was pretty funny to joke around with, and Ross felt like he wanted to get to know him better.

When Trott re-seated himself beside his friend, he poured the contents slowly into his mouth. The liquid, tomato soup, trickled out of the can and into his awaiting mouth.

“So… what’s your story?”

Trott swallowed the soup and looked at Ross. “Hm?”

“Your story. What happened before all this?”

He placed the can down then faced Ross. “Well, I had just got a new job and I was coming over to celebrate with my parents and girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Probably. When I woke up this morning, I waited for her but she never showed up.”

Ross sat quietly, eagerly waiting for more of this man’s story.

“And yesterday, before I went to bed, I- I saw my parents, kinda, yeah.” Trott stuttered over his words, placing his elbows on his knees and embedding his face into his hands. He bit his lip as if he was going to cry again.

Ross didn’t know what to say. His new friend had just lost both of his parents and possibly a girlfriend in the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m- I’m sorry, mate- that sucks.”

“I need to find my girlfriend and make sure she’s okay.”

The taller man blinked, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll help you, if you want. Or you can go alone.”

“I’m craving company, Ross. I need people- my life’s going to shit and I have no one.”

Understanding his friend, Ross nodded and looked into the wide brown eyes staring at him. “I’m with you, I’m not going to leave, not after what you’ve told me.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Trott asked Ross what his story was.

“I was in uni studying media. I wanted to be a director or a crew member for filming movies and stuff but that’s not going to happen now.” His laugh bore no humour. “I drove home, found one of my dogs dead and that’s basically it.”

“And now you’re out here.” Trott concluded, straightening his back.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend, then?”

“No. I’ve only had one girlfriend and that kind of put me off of the whole ‘dating’ thing.”

“Maybe it’s just that you don’t like girls.”

“Are you suggesting that-“

“Yeah, well, are you sure you’re straight?”

“Never said I was.”

“Fair point.” They sat in silence, Max wandering over to sit between the two men and nosing Trott’s knee. He stroked his head, making Max wag his tail. “Are you gay then?”

Ross thought for a second. “No. I don’t think so.”

-

The night eventually came by and the two men and the dog fell asleep on the ground, peacefully dozing off, happy that they found each other.


	6. Chapter 6

Smith’s legs peddled as fast as they could as he rode his way towards the bunker he found a month or two ago. He became consumed by his thoughts as his mind wandered towards different scenarios and conversations that he improvised in his head. They were never going to happen, and Smith knew it, but most of the thoughts in his head were about if he was going to find a lover.

With the diminishing population of England, Smith doubted he would ever find ‘the one’. The females he tried to picture were all vaguely unrealistic, and the men he visualised were way too out of his league – that or they were undead. Smith knew about his sexuality when he was a teenager of eighteen. He had been confused for a good few years, but then he heard of the term ‘bisexual’ and all of his life seemed to click into place. He loved both females and males, but he had never found a special person in his life.

His mind switched back to the present when the bunker had come into view; its large metallic doors contrasted to the lush green of the hillside. He dismounted and placed the bike along the grass slope then pushed open the door with most of his strength (after all, it was made of thick, industrial metal) and found the light switch on the right of the door. Upon flicking the switch, he noticed that it was exactly how he left it all those weeks ago. Thankful that no one had come back to the bunker, he walked down the stairs and placed his rucksack and guitar on the sofa. Thousands and thousands of dust molecules flew into the air aimlessly then vanished without a trace.

He walked back up the stairs to pull his bicycle indoors then lock the door, deciding it was best to find out what spending a night in the bunker would be like.

At first, it was cold. The walls weren’t exactly homely, and being underneath a hill was sure to have a bad impact on the warmth of the place.

Smith’s attention turned to the boxes placed upon the rack in the living quarters. About twenty to thirty, he assumed. Curiosity got the better of him and so he walked to the rack, lifting down the first box. It wasn’t too heavy, but it definitely had something inside it. He shook the cardboard box, earning a light jangle from the contents. ‘Possibly something metal,’ he thought, lifting multiple boxes from the shelves to the floor.

Once every box was off the shelf (and the floor was littered with cardboard and more dust) Smith opened up each box. They weren’t completely sealed, the occasional box had a stripe of brown tape down the centre and the rest of the boxes had flaps that overlapped one another.

In most of the boxes were cans and cans of food and bottles of water. There were chocolate bars and crisps with a best before date of four, or even five months from now. There were also several bottles of distilled spirits including gin and whiskey carefully lined in one of the boxes. If that wasn’t enough, Smith even found some rice and ramen noodles in a couple of the boxes he hadn’t opened yet.

Smith was amazed at the amount of food and beverages that were left here unattended and he thought about what happened to the previous owners, but right now, Smith was extremely grateful to whoever prepared this bunker in the first place since it was loaded with food that would last him and a couple of other people two years at least if they rationed the foodstuffs. Smith began to feel guilt wash over his being; he did just break in to a bunker that probably belonged to someone and he was now going to live in it until this whole apocalypse thing blows over.

Anyway, it was his now. And Smith would guard the contents with every fibre of his form.

-

Waking up in his new bed, Smith felt happy, or at least content. He had decided that today would be the day that he rounded up a few people to stay with him in his bunker.

After a small breakfast by heating up a bowl of rice over the camping fire he found tucked in a corner, he closed the door and hoped that no one stole his stuff while he was gone. Smith mounted his bicycle and rode down the gravel slope towards a medium-sized park.

He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t go more than ten minutes from the bunker, so his plan was to scour the park, go into the next few streets until he reached the outskirts of where he now lived. Then he would make his way back with as many people as he liked and live in the safe bunker for as long as possible.

The park was beautiful. The summer sun shone brilliantly onto the grass beneath his wheels and the aroma of grass filled his lungs. Smith hoped that he wouldn’t get hay-fever from any of the plants as it would make a potentially negative first impression.

He cycled for a minute more when his eyes landed on two figures lying down beside a hedgerow. There was another figure led by their feet, but he was too far away to see what it was.

He closed in on the pair, then dismounted and wheeled his bike over to the sleeping people.

“Hello?” He said, veering over the smaller one.

They both awoke with a start, and two pairs of inquisitive eyes landed on him.

-

Ross was sleeping peacefully before he was quite frankly rudely awoken by an unknown voice.

His eyes shot open and they locked eyes with a stranger who was leaning over Trott but looking directly at Ross.

“Who are you?”

The man smiled widely. “I’m Alex but you can call me Smith.”

Ross’ mind subconsciously recognised this man as good-looking. He internally kicked himself at that thought and his body sat up and scooted itself towards the attractive- no, the… okay-looking man.

“I’m Ross, the short one’s Trott-“

“I can talk, y’know,”

Smith chuckled and held a hand out for both Trott and Ross to shake. Ross gripped his hand much too eagerly, capturing the attention of Trott who grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at Ross. The dark haired man clapped him round the head lightly.

“You two are certainly a pair-“ Smith spotted Max sitting bolt upright. “Oo, who’s your friend?”

“That’s Max, he’s my dog.”

Smith stroked Max while the Labrador attempted to lick at his fingers. “He’s adorable, much like his owner, then.”

Ross flushed a bright shade of pink. “What?”

Suddenly clocking what he had said, Smith grinned. “Ignore me. So, Ross and Trott, I have a deal for you.”

Ross continued to lock eyes with the bearded man. “What kind of deal?”

“Well, I have this bunker stocked with loads of food and stuff. Because of this whole apocalypse thing, I thought it might come into use now-“

“How can we trust you?” Trott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’ll have to take my word for it, mate.” Smith said. “All my stuffs back at the bunker, that’s why I don’t have anything.”

“How many people can you fit in this bunker?” Trott asked, scratching the nape of his neck.

“There are fifteen beds, or something around that. There’s enough food to feed a few people for years if it’s rationed.”

Ross and Trott nodded, tempted at this offer.

“You said ‘deal’, what do you want from us?”

“Your company, friendship and trust.”

“We don’t have a company-“ Ross began slowly, but then stopped himself at what Smith was actually saying. “Oh, sorry.”

Smith found the tall man amusing and also kind of adorable at how he was when he was embarrassed. The bearded man grinned at Ross.

“Well, you up for it?”

“Yes.” Ross stated bluntly, interrupting Trott who was about to ask another question.

“Right, follow me. We’ll probably recruit another person, but only if all three of us like them.”

As Smith mounted his bike, the two other men hurriedly packed their bags and followed Smith, Max trotting along happily by Ross’ side.

-

They had been cycling, walking and hobbling along for only a couple of minutes when they came across another person.

This one was female with flowing red hair with a blonde tint to the ends. She was also alone and sitting on the edge of the pavement.

When Trott saw her, his heart stopped.

“Trott, mate, you all right?” Ross said, causing Smith to brake.

Trott said nothing and a large grin snuck onto his face. Without warning, he bellowed,

“Katie!”

The lady’s head whirled up and upon seeing Trott, she sprinted towards the three men.

“Trotty, oh my God, you’re alive!” She murmured in a noticeable Scottish accent as Trott opened his arms to embrace the woman. Katie hugged back tightly, a few tears escaping from her eyes.

“I can’t believe it.” The overwhelmed man spoke, closing his eyes and willingly falling into the embrace.

“Trott?” Ross asked, confused as to what was going on.

Trott opened his eyes and stood back, Katie now clinging to his arm, her face bearing a bright smile. “Ross, Smith, this is Katie. My girlfriend.”

The other men smiled as Katie stepped forward to shake their hands. “Hi!”

“Hello!” Ross and Smith said in unison. Trott stood beside Katie wiping his eyes with one hand thanking everyone and everything that Katie was still alive.

“Well, Katie, we have a deal for you-“

“Smith, I’ll do this.” Smith was taken aback by the eagerness Trott showed, but he was happy that he had caused a reunion of two halves of an adorable relationship.

“What is it?”

“Smith says he has a bunker that we’ve been invited to. You would be happy with living in a bunker, right?”

“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care. A bunker sounds like a brilliant idea.” She looked towards Smith. “So, you have a bunker? Where?”

Smith raised his arm to point towards the hill in the near distance. “It’s over there in the side of that hill.”

Katie nodded and smiled again. “That’s awesome. I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, you can definitely come with us. Especially if you make squatty-Trotty here happy.”

Ross turned towards Smith. “’Squatty-Trotty?”

“A nickname, mate.”

The dark haired man laughed at the new nickname. “Nice one.”

“Oh my God, a dog!” Katie jogged towards Max, petting the Lab, the smile still plastered on her face. “Who does she belong to?”

“He belongs to me. His name’s Max, he’s pretty friendly.”

“And adorable, I am definitely coming with you.”

Trott laughed at his girlfriend’s enthusiasm towards Max, still not believing that they found each other.


End file.
